


Tomorrow Will Be Better

by sungabraverday



Series: not just a footnote in someone else's story [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Starfleet Academy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 02:59:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sungabraverday/pseuds/sungabraverday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the next four years, Joanna McCoy is making Starfleet Academy her home. It just... doesn't give her the best welcome. But it's getting there. It'll be great.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The early September sun warmed Joanna's back as she walked through the Starfleet Academy quad. It was bustling with life and she felt like just one student among many, nothing special. She had always been either the genius of the one with the hero dad, and it was nice to be free from the pressure. But the stress had always been a guiding force in her life, and to have it swept under the rug, even for a moment, was disorienting. 

It didn't last long. 

"Joanna! Hey! McCoy!" someone shouted after her, and Joanna turned on her heel sharply to find herself face to chest with a very familiar all-American science cadet. 

She grinned up at him. "Fancy seeing you here, Evans." 

Dan slung his arm around her shoulders and guided her towards the mess hall with a sense of purpose. She knew from their years at Berkeley that he always had a desperate need to pack every inch of his frame, but it was lunchtime and she was glad of the company. They were an uneven pair, but that was half the joy of it, watching people’s eyes widen. They were visual opposites, her petite frame next to his mass, his blond hair to her dark, his boundless joy beside her casually serious face. 

The food in the mess was mediocre at best. Joanna settled on a vegetarian pasta, while Dan piled his plate high with as much as he could manage and followed her to a table. They sat and ate in companionable silence until a boy with bright blue hair that could not possibly be regulation hopped into the seat across from them. He was practically bouncing, and Joanna had to grip the table to steady herself. "McCoy, right? Joanna?" he asked, eyes shining with excitement.

If she hadn't already been on edge, that would have done the trick. As it was, her Georgian accent was much thicker than usual, as she ground out, "who's askin'?"

"Chapel, Keith Chapel. My aunt is... Christine, she's a nurse on the Enterprise. Told me to look out for you, said you'd be new and stuff." 

Sometimes Joanna wished her dad would dish on Enterprise gossip more often, because she definitely didn't know that Christine had a nephew about her age, and she thought she might have got that much at least. But she’d met Christine, and she was an absolute saint, the kind of person that her father thanked the stars for on a daily basis and who made Joanna consider nursing for a while before she decided medicine wasn't her calling. 

"How is she?" she asked, twirling the pasta around her fork and taking another bite, watching Keith closely.

"She's good! I mean, I haven’t heard from her in a while so I hope that still stands, but, like, yeah, she's fine." 

"I’m glad to hear it. My dad has nothing but praise for her, and that's saying something. I met her once; she’s lovely, and a real riot too." Keith squirmed, and she scrunched her eyes in suspicion. 

Dan had apparently come to the same conclusion because he put his hand on her arm protectively. Keith's eyes flew to the motion, and he stilled instantly. "Hey, I didn't mean to interrupt. Just wanted to say, if you need anything, give me a shout. I know it's rough with family out there. Didn't mean to disturb you and your boyfriend or whatever." 

Joanna recoiled instantly. "Oh, we're not -" 

"Oh! Sorry! Well, offer still stands. I'll just be off now." He jumped up and practically ran from the mess hall. 

Joanna smiled thinly, and waited thirty seconds after he had left to pull out her comm and type out a quick subspace message to verify whether Christine did in fact have a blue-haired and bouncy nephew by the name of Keith, or whether she needed to add one to the 'steer clear' list already. She had hoped to make it a week before starting it, but Jim had started in Iowa, so four hours wasn't _that_ bad. 

"Seriously, I'm not that repulsive to you am I?" 

Joanna looked up from her comm and gave Dan a look that clearly questioned the state of his sanity. His tone had been light, but it hadn't quite sounded right. 

"You physically flinched," he said with a shrug, "a guy's going to take that personally." 

The pieces fit into place, and she raised a single eyebrow in perfect imitation of her father. "It wasn't personal. If it was personal, you'd have a broken nose." 

He snorted. "Still though." 

"Fine. I flinched because if he's not who he says he is, then sure, you'd did me a favour, here and now. But that could have repercussions down the line. No fraternisation rules, remember? If he was telling the truth, then I don't want my dad thinking I'm dating again, because he’ll worry. Or god forbid, he’ll think he has an entitled and rude bitch for a daughter, because he'd drag me out of Starfleet in a heartbeat." 

Dan scowled. "You're making excuses. You know he's lying about who he is." 

"No," she said, heat rising in her voice, "I _think_ he's lying, and I need to be sure, because I genuinely respect Chapel, and I've no desire to piss her off by being rude to her relations." 

"Excuses," he retorted, "that's got nothing to do with flinching." 

"I can take care of myself, Dan. I've been doing it for a long time." She stood and picked up her tray, food half-uneaten. "You know, I'm not hungry any more," she said in a low and dangerous voice, and headed for the recycler. 

"C'mon, Jo! You know I didn't mean it like that!" he called to her retreating back, but she didn't turn. It wasn't worth it to genuinely lose her temper this early in the term, especially with a friendship that she actually valued on the line. And she really didn't want to think about what he had meant. Any of it. It was her first day at Starfleet, and she was damn well going to make the most of it. 

 

Naturally, it went downhill from there. 

The first class was Introduction to Federation History. It should have been mostly review for her, an easy pre-req that she didn't quite get out of with her Berkeley degrees. Then the instructor told them to turn off all their PADDs and communicators. There was a broad silence of too many wide-eyed stares, and then a gentle shuffle of dozens of bags as PADDs were put away and comms were turned off. Joanna tucked hers away and set her comm to silent. 

It was a typical introductory lecture, filled with conjecture on why the course was important - studying the past helps us understand the present and look forward to the future; what it would cover - Federation history from First Contact to the Narada Incident; and how it would be graded - a research paper and an exam. It would have been easier to bear if she could take notes to force her fidgeting into focusing, but her PADD was packed away. She picked at her fingernails and struggled to pay attention. 

The lecturer stopped abruptly, looked up at the cadets, and pulled out a scanner, holding it up. "Now, I told you at the beginning of class to turn your PADDs and comms off. This machine will verify who has actually done this, and who has only pretended. I would like to be perfectly clear about this. There is exactly one rule in this classroom. Please follow it." 

He activated the machine, and instantly there was a host of beeps and chirps from around the classroom. Dozens of cadets blushed and ducked their heads in embarrassment. Joanna's own comm made a particularly loud popping sound, and she stifled the urge to copy them all. Instead, she raised her hand. 

The professor looked up and paused. "Yes, Cadet?" 

"McCoy, sir," she answered, purposefully using her most neutral accent. "I was wondering what the point is, sir. How are supposed to take notes without PADDs?" 

He frowned. "You do not take notes in this class. You listen. You will not always have PADDs readily available on a starship, especially on away missions. You must be able to remember things told to you without recording them. Does that answer your question, Cadet?" 

"Yes, sir," she said, despite her skepticism. He nodded sharply and glanced down at his attendance list. 

The words _oh shit_ had barely crossed her mind before he said, "Oh, yes. McCoy, Joanna. Daughter of the great Leonard McCoy, CMO of our flagship. Not all starships are as well-equipped as you are used to, Cadet. You will not be as fortunate as your father if you do not pull yourself together. Is that clear?" 

And that was absolute _bullshit_ , because Joanna had heard too many stories about her dad and Sulu and even Uhura in their Academy days - or Jim ever - to think the best crew was the most well-behaved dirtside. But this was not the time to say it, so she sat ramrod straight and said, "yes, sir." 

He considered her for a moment, and she knew she was in for a rough semester. But he moved on, and she spent the rest of the lecture focusing entirely on not moving a muscle, and processed exactly none of what he said. 

Her next class at least just cut to the chase and went sour fast. She had been looking forward to Understanding Subspace for weeks. Most of her physics courses at Berkeley had skated around the point, and understanding comms was something she knew could be valuable in her future. The professor, a middle-aged woman, had different ideas. 

"If you are in command track, please stand." It was an odd request, but Joanna and a handful of students scattered throughout the classroom rose to their feet. 

"These are the people you will be delivering messages to. They have made a token effort to understand your work by being here today. We're grateful for that. Now that they've proved their point, they can leave." 

Joanna sat down heavily, and while the other command track students trickled out slowly to change their schedule, she stayed put. When she was the last remaining command cadet, the professor turned on her.

"There’s one in every year. You don't plan on leaving, Cadet?" 

"No, ma'am. I plan on learning." 

"So you think you’re better than the others, Cadet?" 

"No, ma'am. I may be more determined right now, but not better." 

"What is your name, Cadet?" 

"McCoy, ma'am." 

The professor stopped and laughed, full-throated and abrupt. Joanna shivered, and her professor picked up her rant. "Of course. A daughter of the Enterprise. No wonder you think it's your place to be here; Kirk never had two licks of sense about him either. You can stay, but don't be surprised when you fail." 

She paused and turned to the rest of the class, ignoring Joanna entirely. "Now that we have established a baseline of competence, we can get into the meat of the subject: understanding subspace, and particularly communications within it." 

The lecture continued for another hour while Joanna took notes with more force than strictly necessary. She wasn't going to fail, dammit. She understood physics, and she sure as hell didn't get into command track for being stupid. 

 

Basic Self Defence was her last class of the day, and she went into it with a sense of foreboding. She had always known it was going to be one of her weaker classes, but that didn't quite prepare her for what was definitely a disaster waiting to happen.

The teacher stood at the front of the class and explained a technique that everyone was to imitate by the end of the session. His assistant, a built guy who she’d guess was in security, helped him demonstrate. Joanna knew instantly that it was not going to work for her. She didn't have that much strength in her arms. Normally she would use different strategies, ones that used her core instead, but they had been given a task to do, and were expected to follow it to the letter. She did. 

She ended up flat on her back with a series of too heavy male cadets looming over her for her efforts. That was supposed to be the end of the situation, but the third time was too much. She snapped and went at him tooth and nail, hitting every vulnerable spot on her opponent's body until the teacher’s assistant pulled him away from her.

"McCoy!" the professor shouted, and she rose to attention in a single smooth motion, chin held high. 

"Sir." 

"Did you not understand your task, cadet?" 

"I understood it perfectly well, sir." She bit back the second part of the reply - _to be a fucking punching bag_. 

"Then why didn’t you do it?" 

She answered carefully. "I felt endangered, sir, and defended myself." 

"Your inability to follow instructions will endanger yourself and those around you. I will make a note in your record." 

It was unfair. God, he hadn't even made this about her father. She was prepared for that. This was just cruelty for the sake of it, or maybe incompetence, because if he was a defence professor worth his salt then he knew she couldn't reasonably fight within his parameters. Not without seriously injuring herself, and she was too much her father's daughter for that to sit easily with her. This was practice; it was their first day; this was wrong. She would have bruises in the morning if she didn't apply the dermal regenerator. She couldn't think straight, disgust and fury clouding her sense. It was all she could do to bite it all back and say only, "Yes sir." 

He pointed imperiously to the next cadet, and Joanna spent the rest of the class on the sidelines, watching as cadet after cadet was paired with partners out of proportion to their experience or body weight. She didn't want to file a complaint, didn't want to be labelled as a privileged brat who couldn't handle Starfleet, but someone was going to get hurt. She would never forgive herself if she didn't do something to prevent it from happening. Goddammit, she didn't ask for her father's guilt complex. 

Finally, they were excused, and Joanna rushed through her shower and changing to get away from the gymnasium as quickly as she could. She picked up dinner in a take-away container to take to the safety of her room to mope. It was pathetic to start out this way, but damned if she wasn't going to indulge her feelings. Her dad had very generously gotten her a bottle of bourbon that she could have a bit of as a reward for surviving her first day. And stars, wasn't _that_ lovely. 

She typed in her room’s passcode, only for the door to open to her roommate sucking face with some random girl, her cadet uniform already half on the floor. 

"At least leave a fucking sock on the door handle!" she shouted at them, slamming the door and taking off. She didn't know where she was going - and with dinner and four PADDs in her bag, she wasn't exactly going fast - but she kept moving until she found a deserted corner by one of the shuttle hangars which suited her perfectly. 

She leaned against the wall, slid to the ground, and folded into a ball. Her frustration poured out in hot, angry tears that soaked the knees of her uniform. The laundry fees would be awful, but she couldn't bottle it up any more. It was supposed to have been brilliant, and instead it had been one of the worst days of her life, on a par with the day her dad had left Atlanta the first time and when she watched the little girl on Cerberus die in her arms. And god, it seemed horribly unfair to compare a day of school to that, and her tears came hot again, this time with anger at herself for not being able to get it under control.


	2. Chapter 2

When her breathing had steadied despite the crying, Joanna lifted her head only to find a stranger watching her from a few feet away. Joanna fought the instinct to lash out, trying to maintain the calm she’d just established. There was something in the way the stranger was standing that seemed familiar, and she struggled to place it. 

"You seem sad," the stranger said matter-of-factly, and Joanna realised what she’d recognised. She scrambled to her feet, and greeted the figure in practiced Vulcan. 

The Vulcan woman - a cadet, given her red uniform - stepped towards her, eyes a touch wider than normal. She returned the greeting and said, "Not many humans can pronounce that so fluidly." 

Joanna shrugged, and felt a weight lift from her shoulders. This was where she was meant to be, this was why, and god, how had she doubted that for even a minute? "I had a good tutor," she answered, a smile sparking in her eyes despite the salt from drying tears. 

"So it appears. My name is T'Moya. May I ask your own?" 

"Joanna. Joanna McCoy," she answered. For the first time that day, it didn't feel like a confession to be pried from her, but a gift freely given, and that was a relief all its own.

T'Moya nodded politely and made no sign that she had recognised the name. It wasn’t surprising – her father was well-known in Starfleet, but outside of it only Kirk was a household name – but it was welcome. "It is pleasant to meet you, Joanna. May I inquire as to why you are sad?" 

Joanna shook her head to clear through the emotional fog. How could she explain her breakdown in terms that were even remotely close to logical? It was impossible. Finally she sighed and said, "I wasn't sad, exactly, just frustrated." 

T'Moya's eyebrows furrowed. "But you were crying. Is crying not a thing that humans do when they are sad?" 

Joanna laughed despite herself, too much air and anxiety making it sound weak and breathless. "Yeah, it is. But we cry for other reasons too, pretty much any time we feel too much." 

T’Moya paused again, and Joanna could tell that however awkward she felt, T’Moya was struggling just as much. Finally she asked, "Would you like to talk about it?" 

The question was a total surprise. She wouldn’t have expected it from anyone, not even Dan, and yet here was a Vulcan she had only just met, a member of a species that tried to supress their emotions, asking her about her feelings. She stood in stunned silence for a long moment before she laughed again, too loud and full and bordering on hysterical. She doubled over to regain her control and breath before she stood straight again. "Sorry,” she said. “I hope I didn’t offend you. I just wasn't expecting that." 

T'Moya frowned. "Are you certain that you are alright? Is that not the normal thing to do?" 

It was Joanna's turn to frown, flustered. "Well, yes, it is, but... Well, no. It's the nice thing to do – it's a good thing to do – but not everyone does it. I mean, it's emotions; it's messy. I don't like dealing with them – most people don’t – so for you to offer to listen... it's just unexpected is all." 

T’Moya considered this for a moment. "That seems logical. You are not offended in any way, are you?" 

"No, not at all!" Joanna said quickly. "I'm grateful! You've been a huge help, just by being here."

"I am pleased to be of assistance. If my company would be of further use, would you care to join me for dinner?"

Joanna's stomach grumbled, and she covered it awkwardly with one arm as if it could stifle the sound. "I picked up dinner earlier," she admitted, "but it’ll be cold now. Giving it another try would be good, and I’d be glad to keep you company." She picked up her bag, and accompanied T'Moya back to the heart of campus. And if there was a spring in her step that hadn't been there since before lunch, well, who was there to notice?

 

Joanna woke at five minutes past seven to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and her roommate poking her in the side. She sat up and Carlie leaned back to give her space. 

"You slept through your alarm," Carlie said, "and I wanted to say sorry for last night." She held up a mug and smiled sheepishly. "I bought you apology coffee. And cream and sugar, because I wasn't sure how you liked it.”

Joanna poured one cream and one sugar into her coffee and took a long sip. It was scalding hot, but it was centering and a smile spread across her face. “I’m sorry for last night too. I had a really awful day, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“I'm still sorry. We should talk some time and set up rules and stuff. It’d be better if we were friends." 

"Yeah, I think it’d be better that way too. And the coffee is delicious and officially makes you an angel from heaven, by the way, so I think we’ll get on okay." She blew the steam away and took another sip of her drink. 

Carlie grinned. "Oh thank god. You know, I didn't even know if you were a coffee person! Anyway, I have to go to the gym, so we’ll talk later. Seven thirty class, can you believe it? Like, way to break us early."

Joanna pulled a face, and rolled out of bed. "Thanks for waking me up. Maybe we can talk over dinner?"

The other girl grinned. "Sounds good. Thanks, Joanna!" She pulled on her athletics sweater and threw her bag over her shoulder before running out the door. Joanna blew on her coffee again and took a big gulp of it before stretching her limbs out and starting her day.

 

Advanced Orion Language and Culture was a relief after the mess of the day before. No one doubted that she should be there, even though the only other cadet fourth class was a gangly Orion boy straight out of high school. The entire class was held in Orion and she followed it perfectly well, even when their Orion professor started talking about idioms.

When the lecture dissolved into discussions, she found she was just as good as any of them. Fatima, her conversation partner, invited her to Xenolinguistics Club that evening. "You've got a knack for this stuff,” she said. “Most people who grow up with Earth Standard don't bother learning another language. You aren't like that at all, and it’s awesome. I think you'd fit in fabulously, and I know we'd love to have you. Bring a friend!" She beamed the kind of smile that tries to sell you on something, and Joanna jotted it on her PADD.

"For sure," she said, "I'll be there."

 

Basic Exobiology followed, and while it wasn't something she had studied before, three years of physiology made the concepts a breeze. It should have been that easy and the material was. But she saw a familiar face in the upper tiers of the lecture theatre, and god, she didn't want to deal with Dan right now. 

She sat and took furious notes the whole lecture, periodically glancing over her shoulder. Dan’s eyes met hers with alarming frequency and he was hardly paying attention to the professor at all. It was distracting and infuriating, and Joanna couldn't wait to get out of the lecture hall.

The professor had barely stopped talking before Joanna's PADD was in her bag and she was headed for the door. But Dan was fast and he knew her well. He was right behind her, fingers wrapping loosely around her wrist. "You don't owe me shit, Joanna, and I know it,” he said quickly. “But please, give me a minute." 

She turned back to him as cadets swarmed past them, pushing and shoving until they were out of the room. When the press of bodies had passed she spoke, voice flat. "You were right. Chapel has no nephews, let alone Starfleet cadets. Jim's promised me a list so I can check anyone who tries to pull that stunt again."

Dan swore. "This has nothing to do with that, Jo! I'm sorry for what I said. I was a total dick, and you deserve to be angry at me. You’re brilliant and of _course_ you can take care of yourself. I shouldn't have said any of it." 

"I'm sorry too," she said, holding a hand up to stop him from interrupting her. "I flinched because I hate people assuming things about me. I should have just said that, instead of blaming it on relationships and rules I would break if I wanted to." 

"I still shouldn't have pushed." 

She snorted. "Nope, you shouldn't have. Please tell me it’s your lunch break now. I had a crappy day yesterday, and I need to rant." 

He laughed, and everything was back to normal. “Yeah, it is,” he said, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She leaned in and they slipped into their usual joking pattern as they headed for the mess hall.


End file.
